


Secret Recipe Hot Chocolate and Illegal Hotplate Pizza

by ermengarde



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Mentions of homophobia, mentions of past bullying, minor self body-image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/pseuds/ermengarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey watched Gerard commuting to SVA; struggling with the long days and never getting enough sleep, and not really being a part of the school social scene because he was always on the fucking train, and Mikey made the decision that he sure as shit wasn't going to stay in Jersey for School.</p><p>How Mikey Way left home to find himself and found another family along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Recipe Hot Chocolate and Illegal Hotplate Pizza

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teigh/gifts).



> Thank you to my wonderful cheerleader K ♥ and my fabulous sprinter P ♥ - this would never have been finished without you.
> 
> To my beta aka - THANK YOU ...and I'm sorry... ;) - any mistakes that remain are mine, she added sense and extracted issues like a BOSS. Aka is a gift to fandom and humanity in general, runs excellent challenges and is a thorough and challenging beta.
> 
> [Hotplate pizza is a real thing](http://slice.seriouseats.com/archives/2012/03/the-pizza-lab-awesome-pizza-without-an-oven-aka-skillet-pizza.html) (mine was never this good looking though!)

Mikey watched Gerard commuting to SVA; struggling with the long days and never getting enough sleep, and not really being a part of the school social scene because he was always on the fucking train. Mikey was really fucking happy that Gerard hadn't just disappeared off to school and left him, but there was no way that he was going to get stuck in Jersey. Going to school was going to be the start of his being a better Mikey, and he made the decision really early into watching Gerard getting up before dawn and getting home at midnight that when _he_ went to school, he sure as shit wasn't going to stay in Jersey and do it. The Feds put kind of a crimp in his plans to make money for school when they busted his DVD business, but Mikey's been saving hard since then and taking all the totally crappy extra shifts at Barnes and Noble and he's got enough - if he takes all the offered loans, anyway - that he can move away from all the losers in his home town, go to school in a whole other fucking state, and stay on campus. 

Being so far away from Gee and Mom and Grandma and Dad is going to suck. But the chance to leave behind the Mikey that he was is high school is too strong of a draw.

 

Halfway through his first night in dorms, Mikey starts to regret his decision. His dorm room is cold, the noises are all wrong, it smells funny, and none of his suitemates are here yet. What if his suitemates are dicks, what if one of them's fucking Alex from high school (it can't be Alex, it can't be. Alex is a fucking meathead asshole and he was planning on going to Rutgers wasn’t he? He’d fucking talked about it enough, how there was a thing with his grandfather’s name on it and how that meant they had to take him and how that meant he’d never have to worry about doing laundry at school because his mom could just come get it). Fuck, what if he doesn't get any suitemates and he's the fucking weirdo in the smelly suite all on his own? He should have gone for regular dorms, not the suites, he should have stayed in Jersey, he should have...Mikey's not crying, he's not.

Mikey eventually falls asleep as dirty gray light is beginning to show through his shitty school-issue curtains, too exhausted to be kept awake by either his racing mind or the spring sticking into his kidney from the cruddy mattress.

He's woken by the suite's main door banging open and thudding into the crappy bookshelves in the living area and he sits straight up in bed, heart thumping in shock. 

"The actual fuck?" he mutters, quietly, in case whoever's destroying the suite's doing it deliberately. He pulls on a hoodie over his nighttime t-shirt and sweats and grabs his glasses from the desk. If he has to meet some asshole, he wants to be able to see them. 

Mikey opens his door quietly and sees this fucking Viking dude in the living area, hauling a bunch of duffles and a box. The dude's not, like, eight feet tall or anything, but he's fucking solid and Mikey's very...not. "Uhhhh."

The Viking whips his head towards Mikey. "Oh! Oh shit, man. Shit, did I wake you up?"

Mikey nods. He wishes he had something cool and funny to say, but he's not that great with new people. Or loud people. Or people people. 

"Oh fuck, sorry! I just..." The Viking looks around the room, puts his box down on the barely functional couch, and dumps his duffles on the floor. He walks towards Mikey and sticks his hand out. "I'm Bob, Bob Bryar, and I guess we're suitemates?"

Mikey shakes Bob's hand "I'm Mikey. Way. Um."

Bob smiles at him, it's a nice smile. "I guess you could maybe do with some coffee? I've got a coffee maker in the box.”

Bob is Mikey's new favorite person in the world.

Mikey takes point on setting up the coffee maker, because Bob has all his shit to unpack and Mikey is a good and helpful suitemate. Luckily it's not a fancy machine, because complex instructions are so far beyond Mikey right now, and it doesn't take long until the blissful smell starts covering the base level funk of the suite. 

Bob stops banging around in his room and comes back into the living room. "Oh hey, is that nearly ready?" He nods towards the coffee.

Mikey realizes that he's been staring at the pot, willing the slow drip to drip faster, since Bob left the room to empty his duffles. "Uh, yeah. Nearly. I... I think there’s a kitchen thing next to the elevator, I'll, like, go and look for mugs." There is a kitchen ish room near the elevators, with a wobbly-looking table, a couple of cabinets and an ancient-looking sink with a leaky tap. It smells like an elevator in a shady parking lot and Mikey decides that the sink in the suite bathroom is perfectly fine for washing dishes in. The cabinets contain a weird selection of plates and, like, spatula things, and Mikey manages to find 3 small brown brittle-feeling plastic mugs in a cabinet that don’t look like someone’s been trying to cultivate smallpox in them. Mikey grabs them and brings them back to the suite to rinse them clean in the bathroom sink before he fills two of them with coffee.

"We have got to get better mugs than these." Mikey hands a mug to Bob and Bob makes a face at the stupid, fugly thing. 

"Fuck, yeah. I'll need about six of these suckers to get started in the morning. I wonder if they'll have any at the orientation things this week."

"Oh, hey, yeah, Gee said he got all his pens for, like, the full year at those things." 

"Gee, your...boyfriend?" Bob looks questioningly at Mikey.

"Uh. Gerard, my, uh, brother?" Mikey feels a sudden cold stab of homesickness just under his ribs, thinking about Gee.

Bob scowls. "I don't fucking like homophobes."

"Eh?" Mikey doesn't always really _get_ people, but this conversation seems to have gone south faster than usual and Bob's kinda scary. "I... I'm bi?" _It still counts if it's only in his head so far_ "I don't...I'm not..."

"Sorry." Bob goes a little pink. "You just. You made a face and people can be shitty fucking bastards."

"Oh. I. Um. I'm not." He hopes he isn’t, anyway. 

Bob just nods and fills up Mikey's shitty little mug when Mikey's done drinking his coffee.

 

Bob is very easy to be around. He doesn't speak much, and he's happy to share his things - not just his coffee, but his music magazines and his toolbox (Mikey's not sure that the school will really approve of Bob nailing shit to the walls with, like, actual nails and a hammer, but Gee had given him a framed picture of their Ray Gun Jones logo and Mikey didn't fucking trust a Command hook not to just dump it on the floor and break the glass, and Bob offered). They order pizza to celebrate Bob's first night in the suite and Bob does something magical with a cable that he pulls out of one of his duffles and Mikey's computer so they can watch the stuff Mikey's downloaded on Bob's crappy tv. Bob likes all of Mikey's favorite horror movies, so they watch those and it's not like being at home with Gee, but it's good, and something starts to thaw in Mikey's gut. If they can do this, like, most Saturday nights, or something, then maybe this will be okay.

 

There is one empty room in Mikey and Bob's suite, and it gets to 11:30 the night before classes start for their suitemate to turn up in a whirl of suitcases on wheels and trash-bags full of clothes and very tall friends. Their new suitemate himself is not tall, but it takes Mikey a few minutes to realize that, because he's got a fucking enormous personality and his mouth runs at a million miles an hour. 

"Hi! Hihihihihihihi! I'm Pete and this is Gabe and this is Bilvy, they're my minions!"

Gabe and Bilvy ( _William_ , Bilvy mutters with a scowl) don't seem to take very well to being called minions, dump their trashbags on the floor and pick Pete up by his ankles. Piles of change fall out of his pockets and Gabe just about drops Pete on his head so that he can get down on his knees to gather up the coins. 

"Scramble!" Gabe shouts.

Gabe and Pete both laugh kind of like donkeys, Mikey thinks, and steps slightly behind Bob.

Pete is half screaming, half laughing, and William is dragging him by one leg, over to what's going to be Pete's room

"Unpack, you filthy heathen!" William drops Pete's leg and opens his door. 

"Patrick will not love you if you are crumpled!" Gabe shouts.

Mikey thinks it’s kind of like watching a play, and stays safely behind Bob. He'd feel bad about potentially sacrificing his favorite new suitemate to a bunch of yelling actor-people, but Bob still has his toolbox out next to the couch, and he could totally grab his hammer. 

Pete scrambles to his feet and starts dragging some of the trash-bags into his room. "Patrick will _always_ love me! My Lunchbox doesn't see crumples!"

William rolls his eyes and collapses onto the couch. It is kind of like watching a Transformer fold back up into a car, except with more knees. "Patrick doesn't even love you enough to share a suite, dude" he mutters quietly enough that Pete probably can't hear him over the noise he's making.

"Bilvy!" Gabe shouts, again (Mikey doesn't think that Gabe actually has any kind of volume control), "'Tis time for us to go, and let Pete have his beauty sleep, else he will not be fit to be seen with us!"

"Hey!" Pete yells from his room.

William unfolds himself from the couch and he and Gabe both bow to Bob and Mikey. "Pete's new suitemates, we bid you goodnight. Please treat our tiny menace kindly, his bark is much worse than his bite."

Bob and Mikey just look at each other as the door closes behind William and Gabe.

"That was..." Bob trails off

"Yeah."

They both eye Pete warily as he drags his suitcase (on the side not with the wheels) through to his room.

"Should we help him?" Bob whispers

Mikey shrugs, but he goes over to collect the lightest looking trash bag. 

Even with Bob and Mikey helping, it still takes Pete until 3a.m. to get his stuff all into his room and Bob can't stop yawning, and Pete can't stop _talking_. Mikey's head is spinning with all the information Pete's dumped on them about the love of his life, Patrick, about how he can't pick a major, about how he's on meds for his brain, about how he's pretty sure his folks love him better when he's far, far away, about, fuck, so many things. 

Mikey's somehow found himself standing in the corner _behind_ the bed (Pete had dragged it half-way across the room in a fit of Feng Shui, but had gotten tired before he'd managed to get it anywhere useful and now Mikey's boxed in by an exploded bag of clothes) and he's fucking bone tired, but he doesn't know how to leave Pete and his maelstrom of stuff. He doesn't know how to _help_ , not with Pete being distracted and disorganized and more concerned with sorting his CDs than finding his comforter. Mikey is not good at making places homely, or whatever - he's better than Gerard and he likes to know where his hair straighteners and CDs are, but he's not, like, an _organiser_. 

"Pete." Bob yawns. 

"Wha- Oh fuck, man, I'm sorry! I never, like, notice when it's getting late or shit. I'm kind of an insomniac. Fuck. Go to bed, I'll be fine, you've both been so cool. Fuck." Pete holds out a hand to help Mikey over the bed. 

Pete looks so _sad_ that Mikey gives him a quick hug once he's clambered over "S'cool, man, my brother's the same." He tries to reassure him.

Bob claps a hand on Mikey's shoulder and kind of shepherds him out of Pete's room.

 

Mikey's alarm goes off _way_ too fucking early the next morning, which is totally his own fault for signing up for a 9a.m. Monday class, but _Comparative British Musical Culture_ sounded really _interesting_ and he figures that he can maybe come back and like, sleep at lunchtime or something. 

When he zombies his way out to the living room he can smell coffee, and Bob shoves one of the tiny plasticky mugs into his hand with a grunt. Mikey nods back and downs the coffee in one gulp.

Bob, because he is a prince among men, has the carafe right there, ready to fill Mikey's mug immediately. Mikey thanks him by patting his shoulder (words will come later, or maybe Mikey can bring him a donut? Mikey nods to himself. He can totally bring Bob a donut back) and then he heads out to start learning. 

 

It turns out William is in Mikey's early class - and he looks almost as tired as Mikey. William waves him over, and Mikey almost doesn't know how to react. Mikey's not used to the cool kids noticing him except when they were being fucking mean to him, but William doesn't know that Mikey, the Mikey he left in highschool, and William doesn't look awake enough to be mean to anyone deliberately right now.

"'Morning, Pete's cute roommate." William offers Mikey a donut hole. "I cannot function in the early morning without sugar."

"Uh. Thanks, uh. I'm, like, the same? But more with coffee?" Mikey takes the pastry, though.

William nods. "Another tool against sleepiness. Yes." 

Mikey had kind of thought that William might be English, or kind of affected or something. But the more he listens to William’s strange speech patterns, the more he thinks that William sounds a little like that kid in high school, Jeff, who used to stutter, and who had, like, a special teacher who taught him how to kind of talk around it. William's got some of the little breathing things that Jeff did, too. It settles something in Mikey's stomach, knowing that William maybe isn't totally as perfect at he looks. 

"I will show you where the donuts and coffee live after class, Padawan."

Mikey smiles at him.

 

Mikey's never really been one of the cool kids, he’s never really been anything other than a weird loner, really. Like, he's always had Gee and there were a couple of kids that he sort of hung around with in some of his classes, and there was his and Gee's D&D group, but... Mikey's not used to being able to walk into his classes, or the dining hall, or the coffee shop and knowing there’ll probably be someone there who won’t mind him sitting next to them. He spends the first few of weeks of classes waiting for the other shoe to drop, but... It's like, he shares a suite with Pete, and Pete knows fucking everyone, and Pete never fucking stops talking, so he's told about a million people that Mikey's his suitemate, and that they’ve to be nice to Mikey or something, and... It's good. Okay, so William and Gabe still mostly call him Pete's Cute Roommate and he's not entirely sure that they know his actual name, but...yeah, he came here to get away from high-school Mikey and it kind of seems to be working.

So Pete hasn't introduced him or Bob to the infamous Patrick, which feels a bit like Pete's ashamed of them or something, because Pete talks about Patrick like he hung the moon, and Mikey doesn't have anyone to, like, _confide_ in, not really, but it’s not like he ever had anyone other than Gerard for that anyway, and there's always someone to shoot the shit with, and he and Bob have a regular Wednesday night movie and experimental-dorm-microwave-and-illegal-hotplate-cooking routine. Mikey calls home as often as he can, tries to cram in telling his mom he's fine, he's eating, telling his grandma he's making friends, telling Gee, fuck, _everything_ into no fucking time at all, and then he collapses onto the couch and Bob feeds him pasta, or pastry, or that one time a truly fucking disgusting thing with sausage in it and it's… it’s okay. Bob is quiet and solid and feels a little bit like calm.

 

"We should get the internet hooked up in here," Bob says over coffee one Friday morning after Pete runs shouting through the living room about how he needs to get his ass to the library to book flights home _fuck, fuck, fuck, his mom is going to kill him_.

Mikey screws up his nose and his glasses fall down to the end of his nose. "I think that costs, like, a billion bucks to get set up, with the account and the cabling and everything?"

Bob shrugs and pushes Mikey's glasses back up. "Nah. I think I can work it out, I know a guy in the computer center, and it'd be good to have your computer hooked up. I'll bring some cable and something to bribe him with from home after Thanksgiving."

If anyone can work it out, Bob can, for sure, so Mikey just nods and salutes Bob with his tiny shitty plastic coffee mug. "And I'll bring some better fucking mugs back with me."

Bob snorts and toasts Mikey. "Yeah. If we get internet here, then you can AIM to your brother, too, it wouldn't be blocked like it is at the library."

Mikey smiles. "That'd be. Fuck. Yeah." That would be fucking awesome. Email and moments on the phone are not the same, and Gee's fucking shit at texting.

 

Thanksgiving is fucking weird, it's good, he like, sleeps for a million years, and eats his mom's cooking, and hangs out with Gee, and does ALL of his laundry, but he kind of misses school, misses Pete randomly turning up with fourteen people and an ancient game of Mousetrap, misses Bob's coffee. It's... Mikey’s room smells different, and his mom’s storing her wardrobe overflow in it, and when he’s trying to sleep he feels like doesn't really belong here any more, but he missed home so fucking much when he wasn’t here. He feels like bits of him belong in different places from each other or something now, and he wonders if he’s always going to be missing someplace from now on.

He spends Friday morning digging in his mom's cabinets for mugs to take back to school, and emailing Bob pictures for approval (Bob approves of all kitchy 80s food advertising mugs and disapproves of anything with a puppy or kitten on it), and by Sunday night he's got a fucking tower of stuff to take back to school. His mom comes into his room when he's packing it up with a fuck ton of food - cans and box and spices as well as, like, half a turkey and a whole pumpkin pie. 

"Bob cooks, right honey?"

"Yeah Mom, on the hot plate, mostly."

His mom makes a face. "You don't use the hot plate, do you baby?"

One fucking incident with a fork in the toaster and your whole family thinks you're an idiot. "No Mom, just the coffee pot."

"Good. Some people just aren't meant to cook, Michael; you're just meant to be fed." She pinches the flesh at the top of his arm. "You're too skinny again."

Mikey opens his mouth and his mom puts her hands up.

"I know, I know baby, but I'm allowed to worry."

"I have a meal plan Mom, and Bob cooks more. I have, like, four meals a day _and_ coffee."

Mom strokes her fingers through Mikey's hair. "Well give him this stuff and let him feed you baby, make your mama happy, okay?"

"Yes Mom."

Mikey just about manages to fit everything in his suitcase, even if it means that all his socks need to go into his backpack, and suddenly it's time to go, and he doesn't want to, he's hardly been here for a minute and he doesn't want to leave. Gerard's going to give him a ride to the airport, but surely it can't be time for that yet, surely it's not? He's been texting and emailing Bob in a kind of count down until they're back at school, but it's not fucking time to go yet. 

Gee comes in without knocking, and Mikey swipes at his eyes. "Fucker, did you forget about privacy in the last couple months?" 

Gerard pokes at his shoulder. "Like a. I haven't fucking seen you beat off before and b. you'd be fucking beating off when we're leaving in, like four minutes."

"You fucking have not."

"Fucking have. You're not as fucking stealthy as you think you are MikeyWay."

Mikey shudders, Gerard is probably exaggerating. Probably he just _heard_ Mikey beat off.

"And you're a fucking pervert, Gee."

Gerard giggles. "You're gonna miss me Mikey."

"Duh." Mikey rolls his eyes. "Not long 'til Christmas, though, and we can, like hang out?" He tries not to sound needy, but he really fucking misses just spending time on Gee's smelly basement couch, not really watching movies, just talking and _being_.

"Yeah, course. Oh! And I've been planning a mini campaign, too. You want to be an archer again?"

"Only if I can get that sweet +10 bow, like, the talking one?"

Gerard grabs his suitcase and starts heading downstairs. "The enchanted one? Uh.... yeah, I can probably work that in."

They pretty much get his character fleshed out by the time Mikey has to hug Gee goodbye at the airport. He gets checked in by his third (or maybe second once removed?) cousin Tara, and she puts him into an emergency exit row seat for free, and doesn't huff when he has to unpack two sweaters and a hoodie from his suitcase to get it down to the maximum weight. Gerard laughs for ten minutes straight at his new Stay Puft Marshmallow Man look, and he's pretty sure he's going to _boil to death_ by the time that he even gets on the fucking plane, but it's a good goodbye. He'll be home again in less than a month, and Gee gives him a bunch of comics to read and twenty bucks for coffee and snacks and it's... nice. Getting the coffee and putting the comics in order keeps him busy right up until his gate opens, getting situated and taking off all his layers keeps him busy until it's time to take off. Flying always knocks him out, like, he's awake for take off, and then it's lights out til they've landed - it's fucking weird he knows, but he's not going to question it, because it makes travelling pretty much painless. 

Even though he slept right through the flight, he's fucking exhausted by the time he makes it from the airport to the school - what’s the fucking point of the school running a shuttle when he has to wait an hour and a half to get on it? His suitcase weighs a fucking ton, his backpack is cutting off the blood supply to his arms and keeps threatening to pull him over so he gets stuck on his back like a turtle and his fucking gloves are fucking nowhere and his fingers are _so cold_. Then when he gets to the dorms the elevator's out and he has to drag everything up three flights of stairs. He staggers into the living room of the suite and falls face-first onto the couch, moaning. 

"Good flight?" Bob asks as he pulls Mikey's backpack off.

"Uhhhhhhhhhg." 

"Cool." Bob pats Mikey on the head, and Mikey can hear him move the suitcase and backpack into Mikey's room. Bob is awesome. 

"I got the internet set up."

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah." Mikey cheers very quietly. "Brou mug." He mumbles into the couch. 

"Good man."

Mikey can't keep his eyes open, and he feels Bob take off his glasses and cover him over with something as he falls asleep on the couch.

Mikey is woken by something sitting on his ass. His neck fucking hurts and he has no fucking idea where he is. 

"MikeeeeeeeyWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!" Pete bounces on his ass. "You're fucking bony, man."

Mikey growls into the couch, which makes Pete bray like a donkey. 

"Pete." Bob warns from over near the kitchen. 

"I'm up, I'm up, I'm getting Mikey Tylenol."

"Pete." Bob says again. Mikey is glad he's not on Bob's bad side. 

Pete _finally_ gets off of Mikey, and Mikey tries to sit up. 

" _Fuck_." Mikey's lying with his arms crossed in front of him, and they've both gone completely to sleep. He's probably going to be stuck here forever.

"Your glasses are on the coffee table and the coffee's nearly ready. You wanna go get those mugs?" Bob is _doing things_ in their makeshift kitchen area. Mikey can smell more than just coffee.

"Yeah..." Mikey rocks from side to side, trying to get up enough momentum to move. "Uhhh, I..."

"Dude! Are you _stuck_?" Pete pokes Mikey in the shoulder and drops a bottle of Tylenol on his head. Sometimes Mikey wants to lock Pete in his room and leave him there.

"Pete. Go and watch the waffles." 

Mikey turns his head to the side and he can see Bob looming over Pete. Bob isn't _that_ much taller than Pete, but he's very, like, _solid_ , and Pete puts his hands up and walks away. 

"Do you want me to help you up Mikey?" Bob reaches towards Mikey, but he doesn't touch him.

Mikey closes his eyes. He can hear Pete sniggering and Bob sounds like he’s smiling, and Mikey’s sure that in a couple of days this is going to be a hilarious story like the time that Pete deliberately drew himself a black eye in eyeliner and his professor made him wash it off right in class, but right now it's kind of, like, fucking humiliating, but. It's Bob. Bob only wants to help, Mikey knows that, and his rocking hasn't helped at all, so. Mikey sighs "uh, yeah, please."

Bob grabs Mikey around the shoulders, slides his hands underneath Mikey's chest, pulls Mikey back, up, into a kind of sitting hug, and Mikey sags backwards into Bob's chest for a moment. "Thanks, Bob."

Bob squeezes Mikey briefly, then lets him go. "S'cool. Go and have a shower and bring out the mugs, breakfast's nearly ready, as long as Pete hasn't destroyed it."

"I haven't!" Pete shouts indignantly.

 

Pete hasn't, which is probably just as well because Mikey's not sure that you get the all-As free pass when your roommate's been murdered by your other roommate, in fact he’s pretty sure that you get locked up as an accomplice. Anyway Bob's made _waffles_ , and anything that gets in the way of Bob’s waffles is heresy. Mikey's mugs give, like, +10 awesome to Bob's coffee maker, and it's just a fucking awesome breakfast - even if Mikey does feel like he slept with his head on backwards.

Bob makes him take two Tylenol and sends him off to class with a spare waffle - Mikey hasn't been so well looked after since he was in kindergarten. 

 

"MikeyWay!" William shouts his name when he gets class. 

Mikey startles. William has never called him by name, _never_ , and okay, like, he has to have heard it when the group assignments were going out, and when Pete yells it, but Mikey always figured that William had assigned him the nickname of “Pete’s cute roommate” and he was stuck with it. "Uh. Hey. I." He holds out the waffle. "You want?"

William snags the waffle and hands Mikey his half-drunk coffee. "Spoils from home?"

"Uh. No. Bob made breakfast."

"Fuck. Pete really won the roommate lottery, huh?"

Mikey smiles and sits down, then starts rooting through his backpack for a pen. Bob _is_ a fucking awesome roommate.

 

By the time Mikey's classes are over for the day he's cursing himself for signing up for such a full load on a Monday, and his neck feels like his head is a thousand times heavier than it should be. He hurts and his _brain_ hurts. Like, everything is really interesting and he fucking loves like 95% of his classes and everything, but it's a fucking lot of information all at once and his brain had kind of gotten used to relaxing over the Thanksgiving break and he's feeling tired and grumpy and kind of whiny.

When he gets to the door of the suite, he can hear shouting. Pete is definitely yelling, and there's someone being very, very loudly angry back at him. Mikey makes a low, sad noise in his throat as he puts his hand on the lock and bangs his head gently off of the door. He's so not in the mood for Pete-drama. 

Bob opens the door before Mikey works himself up to getting his key into the lock, and Mikey stumbles slightly as his head support is removed.

"Hey Mikey," Bob says, softly. "Patrick's finally decided to pay us a visit and it's going kinda loudly. I reckon they'll burn out soon, though."

Mikey whines.

"You okay man?"

"My head hurts." Mikey feels completely fucking pathetic, but he doesn't have the energy to front right now.

Bob frowns at him. "It's probably still from sleeping weird last night. Go and have a hot shower and a couple of Tylenol and give me your ID. Ray's working the dining hall tonight and he'll totally let me get your dinner. You want that fucking disgusting food poisoning on rice sushi, right?"

"You're the best Bob Bryar." Mikey smiles at him. 

"I'm totally facilitating your unhealthy fascination with uncooked fish from the fucking _dining hall_ is what I am. ID?" Bob holds out his hand and waits while Mikey pulls his card out of his pocket. "And shower. If they're not quiet by the time I get back I'll just menace them or some shit."

It's nice, that Bob would threaten Pete for him and Mikey's laughing as he walks to the bathroom past Pete and Patrick. They don't seem to notice him at all. 

The hot water definitely helps his head, but there's like, a grumbling pain round the edges of his brain still and he's fucking starving. The Tylenol are still sitting on the ledge behind the sink from the morning, so he takes a couple and washes them down with a handful of water from the tap. 

When he comes back out to the living room, Bob is putting dining hall plates on the coffee table, Pete is nowhere to be seen and Patrick is standing, biting his bottom lip and fidgeting with his hat. Patrick steps towards him. "Uh, hi, uh, I'm Patrick, uh. Sorry. I'm. Umm. I'm sorry for shouting at Pete in your suite, it was inconsiderate and I'm sorry, and, Pete's really _annoying_ sometimes, but..."

Mikey snorts and Patrick stops his verbal diarrhea. 

"S'cool, it's good to finally meet you."

Patrick sticks out his hand and Mikey shakes it. For a short angry dude, Patrick's kinda weirdly formal, with the handshake and the apology and the hat and the grandpa cardigan. He suddenly thinks about how much of a kick Gerard would get out of Patrick and he feels hollow, right in the middle of his chest.

"Oh, shoot, man, Bob said you weren't feeling so good, I'll go, I'll see you around, sorry, sorry." Patrick practically runs out of the suite. 

"Weird dude." Bob points Mikey at the plate of illicit dining hall sushi.

Mikey nods. "Thanks, yeah, I guess maybe you need to be to be friends with Pete?" 

Bob snorts. "Yeah. Hey, I got your computer set up on the internet, if you want to IM home or something? I'm gonna go shower, then we could maybe watch one of the movies I picked up from home?"

"Awesome, thanks Bob. That sounds good."

Bob's already booted up his computer, and the internet's already connected. It's _awesome_.

 **Anthrax80:** Geegeegeegeegeegeegeegee! GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!  
 **Danny_the_Base:** Mikes! did you get a late pass to the computer center or did bob set u up in the dorm?  
 **Anthrax80:** Bob. You need to draw him the hulk to say thx  
 **Danny_the_Base:** ok  
 **Danny_the_Base:** u should send me a picture so I can make him the Hulk  
 **Anthrax80:** Bob does not do pictures. he threatened to break pete when pete tried, lol  
 **Danny_the_Base:** I bet he wouldnt break u.  
 **Danny_the_Base:** and u r sneaksy  
 **Danny_the_Base:** like Bilbo with the One Ring  
 **Danny_the_Base:** lol  
 **Danny_the_Base:** hey did u take the frankenberry mug

It's just really _nice_ not to have to worry about the time and be able just to talk about crap with Gee. By the time Gerard's fallen down one of his conversational rabbit holes about art (Mikey's really fucking proud of him, but inking is really fucking boring), like, an hour's passed and Bob's done all the dishes and made him hot chocolate.

"Fuck, your hot chocolate's amazing." Mikey doesn't usually like hot chocolate very much, he's not _six_ , but this is something else.

"It's a secret Bryar recipe." Bob nods, decisively, in a way that speaks of index cards handed secretly down through the generations, like Frank's mom's marinara sauce. "You ready to watch a movie, or is Gerard still chatty?"

Mikey laughs. "He's always chatty, but he's gotten distracted by inking his new comic so he won't be back on his computer tonight. Mom's going to yell at him for tying up the phone all night for no reason again."

 

 

It makes all the difference in the fucking world, having the internet in the suite; he can chat to Gerard every day if he wants to, and he and Bob torrent _everything_. Bob builds a media server out of a harddrive and bits he's scavenged from... somewhere... and an old Millennium Falcon that Pete finds in goodwill. Like, classes are cool, he's learning some really interesting shit and, after he suggests that Gabe should name his DJ persona Gabey Baby (which is _ridiculous_ ), people who are not his brother keep asking him for band names and shit. He feels at _home_ when he comes back to the suite and Bob's there being Bob, and Pete brings whatever drama of the day home with him.

There is never a dull day, sharing a suite with Pete Wentz and the drama’s always fun when he gets to share it with Bob.

 

It is two weeks until the winter break starts and Mikey seems to have _every single essay in the world_ due and no time to write them. He really fucking wants to get back to the suite and get started, but his library books are making a bid for freedom, and he couldn't get the one book he really fucking _needs_ , he just ran out of can about three days ago and he really just wants to go to bed and sleep until it's time to go home, and when he finally wrestles the door open Pete and Patrick are, like, yelling at each other in the living room again.

Mikey drops everything in a pile at his feet. The books wanted to escape anyway and his pack is heavy, so he's kinda blocking the door but he can't really bring himself to care.

"Shit!" Pete jumps at noise of the falling books and blissfully stops yelling. "Shit, Mikey, are you okay?" He comes over and puts a hand on Mikey's forehead, like he's feeling for a fever. Patrick bustles over to the coffee maker. It's kinda nice that people know that coffee is the cure for everything.

Mikey shrugs. He's not really that okay, but, like, everyone's in the same boat and he's not actually on fire or anything.

"You're kinda, like, warm." Pete shepherds him towards the couch. "'Trick, can you get him some water?"

"I'm okay, I just, the elevator's out, I had to climb the stairs." Mikey sighs. "And the library didn't have my book and I so I didn't have to go out anyway. I'm never going to fucking finish this essay, so I don't know why I even fucking started and, just." He sighs again and bends forward to bang his head on the coffee table.

"Oh, hey!" Pete puts his hand under Mikey's face. "Don't do that."

"What book is it, Mikey?" Patrick asks from a safe distance.

 _International Differentials in Notational Scoring_. Mikey groans, and starts to feel a bit better; Pete's hand is cool and soothing and at least no one else will have the fucking book, either.

"Oh, I have a copy of that, I can loan it to you if you want?"

Mikey sits up and stares at Patrick. He cannot figure out why anyone would own that shit. "But... why?" He’s met Patrick, like, twice, and it’s a hundred dollar book.

"Oh. Uh, you're a cool guy and a friend and I know where you live, and, uh, I, um. I thought it might help?"

"Patrick is the _best_." Pete grins. 

"Yeah" Mikey nods. "That'd be, fuck. That'd be fucking awesome Patrick."

Patrick blushes an almost painful looking pink, but he nods.

 

Patrick won't let Pete come with him to get the book, just glares at him when he hangs off of Patrick's neck and tells him how much he loves him and how it's painful to be separated from him. Pete deflates back onto the couch when Patrick leaves.

"I do, you know." Pete looks at Mikey. "I love him. He doesn't believe me though. It's why he wouldn't share a suite."

Mikey nods. That's usually the safest response when Pete starts talking about Patrick.

"I'm going to persuade him, by this time next year, he'll know." Pete nods, decisively.

 

Mikey finally, _finally_ , gets his work all finished up. He even submits two of his essays early, which means he has time to get presents for Bob and Pete (and Patrick, and William, and Gabe). He gets Patrick a Santa hat and William and Gabe get cinnamon bearclaws and a jar of egg nog creamer each, so it's not like, a huge effort, but it’s nice to give them something. He gets Pete a ridiculous hoodie, soft, warm and slightly over-sized, because sometimes Pete seems to want to hide in plain sight, and a ridiculous orange hoodie seems to be a good way to do that. After spending a lot of the time that he should have been working on essays thinking about it, he gets Bob a really, really good print of the Hulk picture that Gerard drew for him - the Hulk picture that does, actually, look a little bit like Bob, because Mikey stole his student ID, scanned it and sent the picture to Gee - and frames it up, all professional, with matting and shit. It looks really _cool_.

They're all flying home the Saturday before Christmas, so Bob makes hotplate pizza and his special hot chocolate, and makes Pete stay in for a suite festive meal on the Friday night. It's... it’s really nice. The spices in the hot chocolate make the suite smell pretty good, and Pete actually sits still for ten minutes - until he finds Bob's stash of mini marshmallows and puts half of them in his hot chocolate. Mikey gives him his present and Pete rips the paper off like a little kid, pulls the hoodie on, and bounces into Mikey's lap to say thank you.

"Pete." Bob lifts Pete off of Mikey. "Stop it. You're not allowed to break Mikey right before the holidays."

"...But any other time is just fine?" Mikey smiles. It's hard not to smile when Pete's being so actively happy at something Mikey's done for him. 

Bob rolls his eyes. "Any other time would be slightly less annoying. Flying with a broken arm is a total bitch."

Pete _insists_ that he gets to do presents next, even though Mikey's right in the middle of giving his out, and he gives Bob a totally ridiculous tool set, in sparkly pink, with fluffy bits, and mostly consisting of screwdrivers.

"Um." Bob looks a bit nonplussed.

"Oh, hey, I know it's kinda big, but I got it on sale, so it totally wasn't, like, expensive."

"Um. Good." Bob tentatively wields a hammer and gets coated in glitter.

"I _knew_ you'd like it." Pete grins like a demented monkey. "It's handy _and_ fluffy, just like you."

Bob puts a protective arm around his stomach.

"And for you, Mikey, beautiful, enigmatic MikeyWay." Pete hands Mikey a bag covered in pictures of a constipated looking Bulldog wearing a Santa hat. 

Mikey opens the bag carefully. Pete's never mean or anything, but, like, he doesn't always think things through and Mikey's learned to approach his _great ideas_ with a little caution. Inside is a fuck ton of tissue paper, a blizzard of little shiny stars and santas in red and green and gold and, underneath all of the wrappings, six CDs in different colored jewel cases. He pulls out the orange one and it is labelled _Pete's Excellent Roommate Mix, Volume: Sunday Afternoon WAKE UP_. The purple one is labelled _Volume: Gloom_. None of them have track listings.

"Fuck, Pete, this must have taken you forever to do. Thanks, man."

Pete grins, almost shyly. "Uh. Nah, I just. I kind of think in mixes sometimes? And I see you a _lot_ , so."

Mikey smiles at him.

Bob suddenly stands up, from where he's sitting between them on the sofa and Mikey keels a little to the side into the new gap. "Okay, my turn now!"

"Santa Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooob!" Pete yells, and Mikey wonders if he should, maybe, have hidden the tiny marshmallows better.

Bob pulls out a smallish box wrapped in gold paper from behind the couch and hands it to Pete, rolling his eyes. "You haven’t really been a good boy, but."

Pete snatches the box. "I will _always_ be good to you Bob Bryar!" He rips the present open again, like a kid.

"Making a mess is not good, Pete." Bob sighs, picking up the paper.

"Oh _man_! These are fucking awesome!" Pete hugs his new box of Green Tea Kitkats tight to his chest.

Bob smiles, slightly, as he reaches behind the couch again. "You want to swap at the same time Mikey?"

"Uh, sure, yeah, um." Mikey pulls Bob's gift out from under the couch where he'd put it to avoid Pete jumping near it and accidentally breaking the glass. Excited Pete is kind of _bouncy_.

Bob's parcel for Mikey is kind of long and thin, and it is wrapped kind of beautifully, all neat edges and hardly any tape. He. He doesn't know if he wants to open it, or if he wants to watch Bob open his, or if he really _doesn't_ want to watch Bob and... Bob sits back down next to him and starts trying to peel off the tape from Mikey's present. Mikey is not an expert wrapper.

"Fuck. Mikey, is there any tape left in the, like, world right now?" Bob has managed to unstick one corner, but he has a hand full of tape and he still isn't through the paper. 

"Fuck you, it's a Christmas game." Mikey sticks his tongue out.

"You have the strangest concept of fun sometimes Mikes." Bob raises an eyebrow at him, but he's smiling. 

Mikey smiles back and carefully unpeels the tape on his own present. The paper comes off easily to reveal a cardboard tube with an arrow on it pointing to one end. 

"You open the end it's pointing at." Bob says, nodding at the tube. He's still pulling tape off, but he's started giving it to Pete to hold (and stick his hands together with), which is possibly a sign of evil genius.

There's no fucking way Bob is going to open his present before Mikey opens his, not unless Mikey actually _stops_ , so Mikey sucks it up, pulls the plastic cap out the end of the tube and feels inside. There is something hard, metallic, surrounded by bubble wrap. Mikey tugs at it.

"Bubble wrap!" Pete shouts, face lighting up. 

"I have extra in my room. Mikey will need that for his present." Bob glares at Pete.

Pete sort of hugs Bob's back and shoulder and beams. "You're so good to me, Bob Bryar."

Bob snorts. "Well, I haven't maimed you yet, anyway."

"The _best_."

Mikey carefully unwinds the bubble wrap, the present is sort of thicker at one end, heavier, and he feels like it might be fragile, and...

" _Fuck_. You. _**Fuck**_. It's a _Lightsaber_." Mikey feels like someone's punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of him. It's. It's a fucking _Lightsaber_.

"I, uh, I know it's not one of the real ones, but I couldn't, um, anyway, um, I found out how to, like, make..."

"YOU MADE ME A FUCKING _Lightsaber_! You." Mikey feels tears welling up but he can't fucking help it. He's _never_ had any decent _Star Wars_ toys, not that were _just his_ and not covered in Gee’s paint and shit... He swallows, hard. "This is the best present anyone's ever gotten me in my whole life."

Mikey sits back on the couch, holding his _Lightsaber_ , just looking at it. His brain is going 'round and 'round in circles, and his chest feels tight and. _Fuck_

"You like it okay then? I mean, it's just..."

"I _love_ it." Mikey says fiercely. Bob is so amazing and he never thinks he is. It makes him want to fight something.

Bob smiles. "Good. You. Um. The blade is an LED array in a tube, so that would break if you hit it in a duel and there would be dark spots, I mean. I could fix it right up, but it's not really..."

"No dueling. I get it." Mikey smiles back.

"We can do some kick ass photos though. I'll find Mom's camera over the holidays and we can totally have a photo shoot in January!" Pete tries to rub his hands together, like he does when he thinks he's being Machiavellian or whatever, but they get stuck on the tape.

Bob finally opens his own present and Mikey holds his breath. It's just so not in the same league as a fucking _Lightsaber_ , it's cool, obviously, but.

"Oh _man_. Is that _me_!" Bob reverentially almost-strokes the glass over Bob-hulk's face, but he doesn't quite touch it, doesn't smudge it. "Fuck. I look." Bob sits back in the couch with a thump, holding his picture up in front of him. "This is awesome Mikey."

Pete leaves Mikey and Bob sitting on the couch contemplating their presents to go and present Patrick with original vinyl recordings of all of the old albums, songs and artists that Patrick's so much as mentioned since the summer. They're still sitting there when he comes back two hours later (although they've gotten more hot chocolate and Mikey put _Gremlins_ on to watch. It's the _best_ holiday movie). Pete looks kind of sad and worried, and he won't tell them what's wrong. Bob makes him sit down and watch the rest of _Gremlins_ and pulls out his super, super secret stash of marshmallows to doctor Pete's hot chocolate with. Mikey gets his only-for-emergencies-fucking-exams rum out and doctors all of their hot chocolates with that. 

Pete sighs. "You guys know I mean it, right? About Patrick?"

Mikey nods. "Sky is up, ground is down, you love Patrick." It's been a pretty constant thing. Pete's loud, annoying, brilliant, kind, funny and he thinks Patrick hung the fucking moon. Patrick's brilliant, grumpy, kind and polite and he doesn't believe that Pete's doing anything but mocking him. 

Mikey need friends with better self-esteem.

"Yeah." Pete sighs again. "I guess I just need to keep working on him knowing it, too."

 

The next morning starts far too fucking early, but there is coffee (Bob _insists_ on washing out the coffee maker before they leave) and it's kind of fun getting the bus out to the airport with everyone (except Gabe. Because Gabe is a sneaky fuck and finished up all of his classes on Wednesday and took a flight out on Thursday morning. Gabe is already home and has clean laundry and his dad is spoiling him rotten). Pete nearly misses the bus, and nearly leaves his suitcase on it when they get to the airport because Bill is taunting him by holding his ticket up out of his reach (Mikey genuinely cannot work out how Bill got Pete's ticket), but Bob is an expert Pete-wrangler and they all get safely to check-in.

Except, when Mikey tries to check in to his flight, the agent tells him that his flight is cancelled. That _all_ the flights to, like, a 50 mile radius of Newark are cancelled because of the weather.

"Fuck." Mikey drops his suitcase on the floor and kind of just slumps in front of the desk.

The agent looks at him sharply.

"Sorry. I..." Mikey swallows. He didn't mean to curse, he has about a billion stories from cousin Tara about how airport staff can fix just about anything, but they don't _have_ to, and that they seem to take great joy in fucking over people who curse at them. "I wasn't cursing at you, I just. I go to school here and everyone's going home, and I don't have anywhere to be here over the holidays - the dorms are shut and." He has to stop talking and take a deep breath. 

"You're the only one flying to Newark, huh?"

Mikey nods, miserably. "They're all going to Chicago." Not that it would be better if his friends were stuck here, too, then they'd all freeze and that would totally suck, but... Mikey swallows. He doesn't like being alone all that much.

The agent taps at her computer. "I can get you on the next Chicago flight; you could travel up with your friends and maybe get a train or something. At least you could stay with someone you know. The weather's closed right in on Jersey, I don't reckon we'll get a flight in there for a couple of days and even then, there's no guarantee you'll be able to get on it."

"Uhh."

Bob comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Do it, Mikey, you can stay with me if you have to." 

Mikey has to try really fucking hard not to lean back into Bob's hand in relief. "Okay, yeah, thanks, book me on that one to Chicago." Mikey's gone to Chicago before, for his Great Aunt, uhh, something's funeral, and Grandpa didn't much like to fly so they went on the train... it was kind of cool - not like that Hitchcock movie, but, like. Yeah. It took like a day and a half to get there, but Mikey's young, he's stayed awake longer for fun, he can totally do this shit.

He still doesn't feel great when he has to call his mom and tell her he won't be seeing her in a few hours. He wants her to come _fix_ it.

"Mom." Mikey swallows, hard. Calling his mom makes him feel about five years old with skinned knees.

"Hey baby, are you stuck at the airport?"

"Uhh... no, I.. the woman got me on a flight to Chicago, with, like, Bob and everyone? I figured I'd try and get a train or a bus or something from there..?"

"Hmm."

"And Bob said I can stay with him if I get stuck there, you know, the dorms are shut and I didn't know what to do."

"Okay baby. You want I should call the train people and find out about that while you're flying?"

"Yeah, yeah please Mom."

"Okay Mikey, you go and get a coffee and tell Bob that I'll want to speak to his mom if you're going to stay there at all."

"Mooom."

"Mikey," his mom warns.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good. Now, go get your coffee baby."

"I will."

 

Bob just nods when Mikey says his mom wants to call Bob's mom about Mikey staying with them, like Mikey's still in pre-school or something, and then Pete starts poking Bob in the arm.

"Bob Bryar! You don't get to have Mikey all break. That's not fair!"

Bob grabs Pete's finger and pushes his hand backward. "I'm not having Mikey all break. We're going to get Mikey _home_ for break."

"Oh. _Ohhh!_. We could totally do a road trip!"

"Yeah." Bob nods like Pete's not just suggested that they drive for, like, a _day_ right in the middle of fucking winter, in the middle of weather that's fucking closed the airport. "I figured I might get mom to loan me her SUV. I'm pretty sure she'll be happy to keep me away from her fucking brother."

Pete bounces in his seat at the gate. "Sweet! I'm totally coming with you guys."

Bob looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "Your folks won't mind?"

Pete shrugs. "Me and my folks do better if we only get each other in really small doses."

"I'll come too." Patrick says, very quietly and Pete whips his head around to look at him.

"You will?" Pete sounds kind of half delighted, half worried as fuck. "Won't your mom mind?"

Patrick scowls at him. "What? Like I'm too much of a pathetic little mommy's boy to sit in the back of a car? _You_ get to say you don't need to be home for the whole of the holidays, you didn't even fucking _ask_ Bob and I think _both_ of you have folks at home to actually notice you're not there." Patrick's face goes red and he pulls his hat down over his face.

Pete just sits there and makes noises. He seems to have been genuinely shocked wordless.

Bob just nods, like all of this shit is _normal_. "Okay, so, Mikey, Pete, Patrick and me. William, do you want to come too?"

Bill looks up from re-tying his scarf round his knee. "Oh hell no. I mean, a road-trip sounds cool, but I haven't seen Christine since Thanksgiving. I am going to be _busy_."

"Who the fuck is Christine?" Which. It's maybe not how Mikey would have worded it, but Pete's pretty damn good at asking the questions Mikey usually only asks in his head, in case he's missed something or something. If Pete doesn't know who Christine is, then probably no one knows.

"Christine is," William smiles. "Awesome. We are going to have beautiful babies some day."

Until precisely three seconds ago Mikey was pretty sure that the only person William was going to have babies with was Gabe, but maybe they'll be, like, polygamous or something.

"The fuck?" Patrick mutters, but Bill doesn't seem to hear him. Bill is too busy somewhere in his brain with Christine.

This entire trip is blowing Mikey's mind.

 

Mikey is sitting next to Pete on the plane, and between Pete's hyperactivity and the total fucking weirdness of his life right now, he figures that he's totally not going to get to sleep, but actually he's fucking worn out and he doesn't even stay awake through take off. Pete doesn't shake him awake until they've taxied to a halt in Chicago. He feels guilty, like he should have been _doing_ something, but when they meet Bob at the luggage carousel it seems like Bob has magicked a map from somewhere and planned, like fourteen routes to Jersey, and prepped William to be their phone-based coordinator in case of any weather-related changes.

"I'm pretty sure my mom will give us whatever shit we need for this trip. She invited her brother for the holidays and he's a homophobic asshole, so she owes me." Bob grabs Mikey's suitcase and swings it onto the luggage cart on top of his own. "We'll go to mine first, so we can get the car and I can dump off my laundry and shit, and maybe Mom will feed us, and then we'll go collect Pete and Patrick."

"Uh. Okay." 

"And you can call your mom." Bob nods. "Pete, Patrick, I'll text you when we're on our way to come get you. Can you text me your addresses please?"

 

Bob's mom is blonde, like him, but doesn't look much like a Viking. She just looks very _mom_ and it makes Mikey unbelievably homesick. She makes them come in and take off their shoes and sit down at the kitchen table for something to eat. 

 

"Mom. I need the SUV. Mikey needs a ride home." 

"Uh, sure Robert, will you be back by nine? Jeff lands at ten."

"...And?"

"And I'll need the car back by nine to get to the airport to collect him."

"Mom, you didn't come and get _me_ , why the fuck are you..."

" _Robert Nathaniel Corey Bryar_ , I will not have that language in my house!"

Mikey shrinks his head back into his shoulders, trying to make like a turtle and stay out of the crossfire.

Bob rolls his eyes. "Sorry. I just. No. I will not be back by nine, I'll probably stay overnight, drive mostly in daylight. You have the Camry, and I told you at Thanksgiving that I didn't want to spend time with Jeff until he stops trying to tell me I'm _sick_."

"Your Uncle Jeff just wants what's best for you, he's just a little old fashioned."

"Your brother is a bigot Mom. What's best for me is to feel safe in my own home."

Bob's mom laughs, a polite little fake laugh. "Oh Bob, you're totally _safe_.”

"And if I introduced _Uncle_ Jeff to Mikey? If I said, _Hey Uncle Jeff, meet my boyfriend, happy holidays!_. I'd be safe then? Mikey'd be safe? Jeff wouldn't try and drive Mikey out of my home, wouldn't try and get me into shitty therapy? Just because I'm big enough to beat the slimy asshole to a pulp doesn't make being around him _safe_."

Mikey feels like he's going to throw up. He...He gets that Bob's just saying the boyfriend thing to make a point, but... He wants Bob's family to like him. He wants Bob to be able to love whoever he wants to love. He wants to hug Bob. He wants Bob's mom to stop looking like she's been slapped. He...

He puts his hand on Bob's wrist and squeezes gently, and Bob turns and looks at him, wide-eyed. Mikey nods and smiles, Bob shouldn't be worried about Mikey.

"Oh." Bob's mom sighs. "Oh, Bob." She sniffs. "You can take the car. I. He's my _big brother_ , I can't... I'm sorry Bob. I'll." she sighs again. "I'll speak to him before you get back. I'll get him to leave you alone."

Bob nods. 

"I'm glad I got to meet you Mikey." Bob's mom turns and walks out of the kitchen.

Bob kind of deflates. "Sorry Mikey."

"Hey, no. It's okay." Mikey pats Bob on the arm and Bob turns in his chair and hugs him. 

It's not very comfortable, all twisted around, but it's _Bob_ and Bob's sad, so Mikey hugs him back, hard.

 

 

Bob's mom gives them sandwiches and soda and $400 and her credit card and the SUV has a full tank and is winterized. It's really fucking awkward, but she hugs Bob goodbye, and tells him she loves him, so maybe it's going to be okay. Bob fucking cranks the stereo as they drive to Pete's, though. 

 

They haven't even totally stopped outside of Pete's house before he comes running down the stairs, shouting behind him. "I'll call from the road, we'll probably stay at Mikey's for a while, love you!"

Pete heaves his sports bag into the trunk and throws himself into the back of the car yelling " _Drive, drive drive!_ "

"We're not in a heist movie Pete." Bob says, shaking his head.

Pete laughs like a hyena. "You spoil all of my fun Bob Bryar! The only heisting I want to do today is Patrick."

Mikey tries to parse that, but... "That doesn't even make _sense_." 

Bob just snorts and pulls out of Pete's road into the traffic and towards Patrick's house.

 

Patrick's house is dark, the only unlit windows in a street full of Christmas excess. 

"I wonder if Patrick's secretly a Jehovah's Witness, or...He'd have said, right? If he was Jewish or something?" Pete sounds really confused and little bit hurt. 

"Maybe his family are just really into the environment? Or saving power? It's not really, like dark so maybe they don't like having the lights on in the day..." Mikey doesn't like it when Pete's hurt. Patrick's kind of awesome but he really needs to stop making Pete sad.

Pete hums a little "It's really overcast though. The lights are pretty." He gets out of the car and heads to Patrick's front door. 

It is really overcast, kind of gloomy and cold-looking, although it's warm in the car. "I wonder if his family is religious?" Mikey looks up to where Patrick is trying to leave his house and Pete is pushing past him to get inside. "I mean, lots of people reinvent themselves at school, leave the difficult stuff back at home?"

"You mean like my shitty homophobic family?"

"And the crappy jocks who flushed my head for being a fag."

"Mikey!" Bob reaches over and touches the side of Mikey's head, like he's worried that Alex and his fucking douche friends have left some permanent damage.

Mikey maybe kind of leans very slightly into the touch "S'okay. I got out, they'll still be wandering around Belleville when they're ninety, scratching their balls and and burping the alphabet."

"And I can accidentally run them over if you want." Bob gently pushes Mikey's hair behind his ear and Mikey can't help turning into the touch. 

The car door opens with a **bang** and Patrick is being shoved into the car.

"I can't believe you didn't _tell_ me 'Trick!" Pete yells as he shoves Patrick right over and gets in behind him and his bag.

Patrick settles into his seat kind of fussily, putting on his seat-belt, reseating his hat, and crosses his arms. "Tell you _what_ Pete? That my folks got too good of a deal on a cruise to miss? That I couldn't fucking go with them because of school and they still fucking went? That I .... " Patrick sniffs and pulls his hat down. 

Pete clambers right over to him and clings like a baby monkey. "That the coast was clear for me to come over and love all over you." Pete kisses Patrick's hat, then his ear, then his hands as he tries to push Pete off, then his cheek and then Patrick's grumpy noises turn to giggles and _then_ Mikey turns back around and looks straight forward.

"Um. I know Pete's not wearing his seat belt or anything, but he's definitely safely anchored."

There are _noises_ from the back seat.

"Pete! Get off of Patrick and put your seat belt on. You can share a room tonight." 

"Spoiling all my fun again, Bryar!" Pete laughs.

When Mikey sneaks a look in the rear-view Pete and Patrick are both smiling at each other and Patrick's cheeks are bright pink.

 

 

It's a really nice drive. The weather isn't great and the roads are fucking busy, but Bob lets him pick the music. When they stop at a gas station for supplies Pete and Patrick hold hands until they get to the sodas and Patrick refuses to let Pete buy anything with caffeine in it and they start slapping at each other instead until Bob separates them.

They get about half way to Jersey before the weather really starts getting bad - Mikey can barely see because of the snow and he doesn’t know how Bob’s keeping them on the road. They slow almost to a crawl, following the tail lights of the car in front for miles and hours. 

"Everyone keep a look out for a motel or something. I think we should stop for the night and let this ease up a little." Bob rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck like he's sore and Mikey starts staring through the snow, trying to will a motel to appear so Bob can stop driving.

"Oh!" Pete shouts from the back seat. "Is that a sign up on the right?"

Mikey narrows his eyes and stares where Pete is pointing. There's a blue and yellow blur. "Uh, yeah, yeah I think that's a Days Inn."

"Thank fuck." Bob cracks his shoulder and signals to pull into the motel.

 

The motel is pretty full with holiday travelers and Mikey and Bob end up sharing a queen...while Pete and Patrick end up with the _Jacuzzi Suite_. 

 

"There's a fucking bath in the corner of your bedroom." Mikey can't quite get his head around this fucking room. Okay. So, they're in the middle of nowhere, but a fucking motel _Jacuzzi Suite_. It's _weird_.

"Yup." Pete grins, hands on hips, kind of channelling his inner Gabe. "Now leave us! I need to get Patrick dirty enough to get clean!"

Patrick makes a squeaking noise and turns bright red.

"Be careful, I don't want any Petelets running around in September." Bob smirks and starts shepherding Mikey out of the room, shutting the door on Pete's donkey laugh. 

 

Mikey and Bob's room is about as far from the reception as it's possible to be. 

"Are we fucking walking to Jersey?" Mikey drags his suitcase over an uneven bit in the carpet. 

"Maybe." Bob grabs Mikey's luggage out of his hand and picks it up off its wheels. 

"Or maybe we're really in _The Shining_... This corridor's kinda long."

Bob snorts. "Redrum, redruuuuuum."

Mikey giggles. Bob had been fucking jumpy as fuck when they watched _The Shining_."

"Finally." Bob sticks the key (and it is an actual fucking key, not a card or anything) in the door right at the end of the endless corridor.

The bed’s really not a fucking queen. It’s a fucking single with aspirations.

"Umm. I can sleep on the floor?" Mikey eyes the carpet. It's an eye watering pattern, but it looks clean enough.

"Don't be fucking stupid, you'll freeze to death. _I'll_ sleep on the floor. I've got built in insulation."

"No! You're _already_ sore from driving." Mikey pokes Bob in the shoulder and Bob practically drops Mikey's case on Mikey's foot. 

"Ow." Bob says flatly, and goes over to the bed. "We could probably share. If we shove it up against the wall and you go on the wall side then I won't shove you out or anything."

"Bob. Stop it. We can share, we don't need to move the bed. It'll be fine." Mikey wishes Bob would stop making these little judgey comments about himself. Bob is _awesome_. "Go and have a shower."

When Bob's in the shower Mikey calls home. 

"Hello." Gerard answers the phone like a little old man who's afraid of the new-fangled technology.

"The phone can't eat your soul, you know."

"Mikes! Where the fuck are you? Did you get to Chicago yet? Are you stuck at the airport? Do you need money? I could wire you, like, forty dollars maybe?"

Mikey can't help laughing. "S'okay, I don't need your money Gee. I'm, um. About half way from Chicago to Jersey? Bob's driving me."

"Ooh. _Bob's_ driving you."

"Shut up."

"I just mean it's nice he looks after you like that. It's good. You deserve a nice boy."

"Geeeee-eeeeeee."

"You'll be home tomorrow, right?"

"Probably, yeah."

"And Bob will be there?"

This is going to be _mortifying_ "Yes."

Mikey can actually hear Gerard _clap_. "Awesome."

 

Bob takes _forever_ to get finished in the bathroom and Mikey gives up on the idea of having a shower before bed and just pulls on the jogging pants and ancient band shirt he wears as pajamas and untucks the sheet from around the bottom of the bed. He cannot _stand_ having his toes squashed under a tight sheet.

Bob comes out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wearing the shirt he's been wearing all day and his boxer briefs. 

"I, uh. Forgot to pack pajamas?" Bob scratches at his beard.

Mikey shrugs. He's seen Bob in his underwear before, he's not, like, offended by his Bobness. He kind of _likes_ his Bobness. "S'cool. Bed?"

"Yeah."

Bob hits the lights before he climbs in next to Mikey. The bed is small, but it's comfortable, with good pillows and a thick comforter. It's cold though. The room is cold and Mikey got kind of chilled before he got into bed. Bob is warm and Mikey wants to snuggle into him. Mikey shivers as a draft sneaks under the bottom of the comforter and attacks his feet.

"Come here." Bob slings an arm over Mikey and pulls him close. He smells so _good_ and he's fucking _bringing Mikey home_ it's.... 

Mikey wriggles up the bed under Bob's arm and kisses him, just a gentle little touch of closed mouths.

Bob wraps his arm tighter around Mikey. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mikey snakes his arm around Bob's waist. "Yeah."

And Mikey kisses Bob and Bob kisses Mikey and they're kissing and it's just... eventually they break apart and Mikey rubs his nose on Bob's. 

Mikey feels like he’s fizzing inside, Bob’s holding him and he has his arms around Bob and it feels like nothing he ever knew he wanted. It’s exciting and safe and _hot as fuck_. He can feel Bob hard against his thigh and Bob’s fingers stroking at his back through his shirt.

“Is this,” Bob hesitates “do you want this?”

“Yes.” Yes he fucking wants this.

“Like, more than just to keep warm?”

Mikey wants to find the fucker that screwed Bob up so bad and kick them until they bleed. “ _Yes_ ” 

“Really? But you’re so beautiful Mikey.” Bob sounds so fucking unsure and it hurts Mikey's heart.

He _loves_ Bob, he realizes, that's what this feeling is, this bubbling warm happy in his chest. It's love. 

Mikey literally can't keep his words inside, he needs Bob to know. "I love you. I just, I _love_ you, I want to be with you all the time, Bob.” This must be what it's like to be Pete, these words burning under his skin to be spoken.

"Yeah?" 

" _Yes_. Fuck. Yes. For months, while we sat on the couch and watched movies and drank hot chocolate and fixed Pete and... _Yes._. I love you."

Bob kisses him again, sweet and soft and deep. "I love you too. I fucking love you _so much_ too."

 

In the morning it takes nearly an hour to get Pete and Patrick out of their room, and the carpet around the bath is soaking wet. Mikey swears never to ask. 

Bob only lets Mikey's hand go when he absolutely _has_ to, and when they get to Jersey Gerard only threatens to have _the talk_ with him, but he's too busy smiling at how happy Mikey looks to really do it. 

Mikey's school-family stays with his blood-family for a couple of days before they head back to Chicago, and they make all sorts of plans about how to rearrange the suite so Patrick can move in (probably they'll get a cheap futon, but Pete's got some ideas about stealing the bed out of Patrick's _current_ dorm room and bolting it to his own bed). When Bob leaves Mikey misses him, but they IM _all the time_ and fuck. Bob _loves_ him. A little bit of time apart is nothing when he knows what he's got waiting for him after the holidays.


End file.
